


The Stars Are Yours

by darlinghogwarts, MaddyHughes



Series: Stars, Sea, Sky [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Hannibal in Love, M/M, Murder Husbands, One Shot, Romance, Slow Burn, post-S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6777859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlinghogwarts/pseuds/darlinghogwarts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyHughes/pseuds/MaddyHughes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two months after their fall from the cliff together, Will's feelings toward Hannibal have grown and changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars Are Yours

**"How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart." —William Butler Yeats**

 

 

It has been two months since that night.

For the first month, things were busy. They went to South America. Venezuela, Brazil, Argentina. Cities blurred, people went from human beings to threats, and the news shifted focus from contemplations about their disappearance to old politicians denying climate change.

Argentina was soon a distant memory, and for a while, it was the streets of Berlin that he had to familiarize himself with.

And then Debrecen, and then Pleven.

The scenery swept by, public opinions fluctuated, official government statements changed, and the media started to forget.

Two things remained constant in his life.

The dull, aching pain in his cheek, and Hannibal’s presence by his side.

By the time they settle in Poros, a small island in Greece, Will has almost forgotten what a life of routine felt like. They have been running for so long that this moment of—peace, quiet, tranquility—seems to drag on for eternity. Time stands still.

Their cottage is a few minutes away from the local market. It sits at the top of the hill, separated from the sea by a forest. It’s charming, with its white walls and large windows. From where he sits on the ledge of the balcony, the side of his body resting against a pillar and legs hanging from the edge, Will feels a kind of serenity he hasn’t felt in a long time. Their cottage is far enough from the general population to offer them a sense of peace, and close enough that he can see the calm waters and the edge of the market beyond the forest.

He rests the side of his head against the cool, white pillar. Will's eyes close as a pleasant breeze rushes past him, tangling in his hair. His lips curve into a small, barely noticeable smile, the raised skin of his scar stretching across his cheek.

For the first time in two months, his body isn’t tense. Will allows himself to relax, allows the tension to melt away—a constant pressure so familiar that it’s almost muscle memory, almost an instinct.

And yet, despite his lack of awareness, he notices as Hannibal noiselessly makes his way into the balcony, his feet silent. Will notices his presence, as he always does.

A instinct so ingrained in his mind that it’s almost a sixth sense.

“Hannibal.”

Hannibal pauses before he walks onto the balcony. Will sits on the ledge. He wears a plain white t-shirt, and shorts. The breeze lifts Will's hair from his forehead. It's grown during their months on the run, as has his beard. Hannibal- knows that this is at least partly an attempt to cover the scar on his cheek that Dolarhyde left as one of his parting gifts. As well as the scar that Hannibal left himself, on Will’s forehead. Will has not said as much, but Hannibal knows it.

There is, and has been, much unspoken between them.

Though surely Will must notice the way Hannibal is always drawn to him, without conscious volition. How even if he does not cross a room to be beside him, how his eyes follow him. How they echo each other's posture, even more than they used to, after these months of constant enforced togetherness. He knows Will must notice.

Will has said nothing.

He intended to go back into the house, put it into order, but this same almost magnetic force makes him step onto the balcony, the better to see the small smile on Will's lips. When Will says his name, he walks to stand beside him.

“Do you like this place?” Hannibal asks.

Will's eyes open. “It's quiet. Calm. Far enough from the general population that we have our privacy, but close enough that we're not isolated. The cottage is charming; very open. With a population of barely 3000, we are safe, but the island certainly has the... flair that you are very fond of. And the small forest that you knew I would like.” His voice is quiet, the words slowly rolling off his tongue. “You planned out every aspect to perfection.”

Hannibal sits beside him: not close enough to touch, but close enough to speak more quietly than the breeze. He looks out to sea. “Yes. I always plan carefully.” He pauses. “But do you like it here, Will?”

“We have only been here for a few hours. Not long enough for anyone to decide if they like it or not.” There is a small pause. “Is your question about the island or is about being in this island with you?”

Hannibal’s gaze goes swiftly to Will's face. They are approaching something they have not yet said: a gap they have not yet broached. He looks at Will for a moment, then looks back out to sea.

“Bedelia Du Maurier stayed with me out of fear, and a finely-tuned calculation that despite her fear, it was the safest place for her to be. She knew that I would kill her. And that every day, every hour, I chose not to.” Hannibal glances at Will. “I will not kill you, Will. It has gone beyond a decision. If you are still with me, it is not because of fear.”

Will's eyes find Hannibal's. “I know. If I was scared, I would have pushed you off that cliff. I jumped with you.”

Will's eyes echo the water below them. Hannibal gazes steadily back at him.

“So do you like this island,” Hannibal asks, “or do you like being on this island with me?”

“A beautiful island means nothing if the beauty is washed out by mind before my eyes even see it.”

“Do you see no beauty, Will? Is all of that gone for you, now? Everything you found beautiful once?”

“I never said I don't see the beauty.” There is a small pause. It gives away far too much. So does the slight hesitance in his words. “The beauty of the island means nothing. Not all the places we stayed in were beautiful.”

It is strange, stepping away from the typical rules of their game. It is strange to say something to soothe, rather than to keep Hannibal on his guard, questioning Will's words.

“Loneliness is strange,” Will continues. “It washes away beauty. Companionship is stranger. It makes us find beauty in places that aren't beautiful.”

Very quietly, Hannibal says, “We are companions.”

Will doesn't answer. His eyes leave Hannibal's, fixed on the sea. He sits there for a few minutes before turning and pushing himself off the ledge, feet landing on the balcony floor.

“I'm going to go for a walk in the market. Is there anything we need?”

“You could choose some fish, if you see some fresh. Perhaps some squid. Some fruit, for tomorrow. And candles.”

Will nods. “All right.”

As he walks out of the balcony to get his wallet and some cash, Will is aware that this is the first time in months that they are willing separating from each other. That for the past two months, they haven't let each other out of their sights. That they haven't traveled anywhere alone.

If he wished to, he could leave, and never return.

If Will wished to, he could leave, and never return. Hannibal knows it. He wonders if he would allow it. He wonders if he would have a choice.

For a man who plans everything, he has not planned for this. He does not know what he would do.

Perhaps Will should be afraid, after all. Perhaps Hannibal should be.

Disquieted, he goes inside to make up the beds.

Will’s wallet is in his pocket. He has cash for the groceries. And yet, Will feels as if he is forgetting something. Unsure, he puts on his glasses and makes his way to the front door.

The feeling doesn't go away. Will's hand pauses at the door handle. Unsettled, he takes a step back. And another. And another.

Inhaling deeply, he turns around, walking toward the other side of the cottage, where the bedrooms are. “Hannibal?”

Hannibal, putting a pillow in a case and smoothing the creases, pauses. “Yes?”

A small, awkward pause. “I'm going to the market.”

“Yes. I forgot to mention lemons. And matches, for the candles.” Deliberately, Hannibal folds down the sheet, allowing Will space to say whatever it is he needs to say without feeling scrutinised.

“Is there anything else I am forgetting?” Will asks.

“Fish, fruit, lemons, candles, matches. We are not in urgent need of any of it, tonight.” He adjusts the pillow. “Is there something else that /you/ would like?”

“I'll see if I want anything once I'm there.” Will nods to himself. “I'll... see you in an hour, then.”

“Yes. In an hour. I'll hold off cooking until I've seen what you've brought back.” He smooths the sheet a final time. “You can have this room. It has the better view of the forest and the sea.”

“Right.” Will doesn't move, the feeling gnawing at him. “Hannibal?”

This time, he does look at Will. “Yes, Will?”

Will takes a step closer. “I... Well…”

Gently: “What is it?”

Will takes another step closer, his eyes fixed on Hannibal's. For a moment, he waits.

And then, without hesitating, he tilts his head up and kisses Hannibal.

It's a mere brush of lips, but it sends his heart beating wildly, sends a rush of emotion down his body. It lasts for just a few seconds, and then he steps away.

“I... was forgetting something.”

Hannibal has gone still. Instantly, preternaturally still, as if carved of marble. This is...too precious to breathe. Too exquisite to last. If he moves, it will shatter. He may shatter.

He stares at Will, a thousand emotions in his eyes.

“I will see you in an hour,” Will says.

Will's words partly break the spell. But only partly. Hannibal still cannot move, but he manages to speak, hoarsely.

“An hour.”

Will glances at Hannibal, his own heart threatening to jump out of his chest. His voice is slightly breathless. “Unless you would like to come with me.”

Hannibal doesn't trust himself to speak again. He nods, and walks out of the room, returning with a hat and sunglasses.

The walk to the market is quiet. But while no words leave Will's mouth, his mind is overflowing with them. They walk along the forest, down a barely-used trail. He can hear the waves crashing not too far from them, can smell the salt in the air. The trail changes directions, and soon, the sounds of the waves become distant, drowned out by the sounds of the bustling market.

The silence between them is companionable, and yet, Will feels he must say something.

“It... felt natural.”

Hannibal is hardly ever lost for words. But he feels too much to speak. Too much even to look at Will as they walk.

He perhaps appears to be calm, but he is not. Underneath his skin, he is churning, teetering, spinning. He cannot feel happiness, not pure happiness. What he feels is possibly closer to fear: the type of fear that Will says he himself does not feel.

Hannibal clears his throat, and says, carefully, as they walk: “We have been constantly together. And we—share a peculiarly intense...mental relationship. Perhaps that is why you felt it...natural…”

He swallows.

“To kiss me.”

Hannibal pauses, biting the inside of his lips, in indecision. “Or perhaps...your empathy has made you act not on your own emotions, but...on mine.”

Will takes a long, unsteady breath. He is unsure, not having expected this reaction.

“Or perhaps I feel what you feel,” Will says.

Hannibal would like to turn to Will and ask him if this is true. Question him, get to the heart of him, as he has done so many times before. But they are at the market now, and people begin to bustle around them. Vendors yell about their wares in rapid Greek, over the scent of spices and produce and fish and bread.

Hannibal stops, picks up a melon to test for ripeness. From caution and learned habit they do not use each other's names in public; he catches Will's attention with a glance. They are attuned to each other. They fit each other's rhythm.

He holds up the melon for Will to smell, and murmurs, so that only Will can hear: “Do you know how I feel?”

The market is bustling around them: loud, boisterous, lively. And yet, when Hannibal speaks, the sounds of the market fade. Will's eyes slip down to the melon in Hannibal's hands.

“I had a... conversation with Dr Du Maurier. Not long before I brought my plan forward to Jack.”

“I see.” Hannibal gives the melon to the stallholder, begins selecting grapes. “She would not have given you the information in the hopes of making you happy. Rather the opposite, I would think.”

“She asked me I felt the same way. If I... ached for you.” Will reaches for the figs.

Hannibal has been breathless, on tenterhooks. At this, he does at least smile.

“It's like her to choose a metaphor of pain.”

He chooses lemons, reaches out his hands for the figs Will has chosen. In the moment of taking them from his hands, asks: “And do you?”

Their fingers brush as passes on the figs to Hannibal. “Not long after she asked me, we went forward with my plan. Does that answer your question?”

He pays for the fruit, exchanging a few words of Greek with the stallholder. Turning away, with Will, he says, “Your plan, which was more likely to end in my death than my freedom? I could ask for a less equivocal answer. How did you answer her?”

Shortly: “I didn't. And yes. The plan. The plan, which essentially meant I was choosing you over—everyone else.”

Hannibal is conscious of the irony: after months seeing almost no one but each other, they are having this conversation, _this_ conversation, in the middle of a crowded market.

Perhaps they both feel it is safer, here, not alone, where they have to weigh their words, be cautious of touch. He swallows, and risks the question as they walk to the stall selling household goods.

“And do you? Ache for me?”

Will's breath catches in his throat. The sound is almost inaudible, but despite the noise around them, he knows Hannibal must have heard. He glances at Hannibal, the faces around them melting away.

“Do you think I ache for you?”

“I think...that you only avoid answering questions when the answer is risky, or you do not wish to admit it. In a place such as this one, the easiest answer would be 'yes' or 'no.' And yet… With all my knowledge of you, I am not entirely able to predict which answer it would be.”

He turns and has a short conversation with the man behind the stall in Greek, at the end of which he has purchased ten candles and three boxes of matches. He hands the package to Will.

“I know that I would like you to,” Hannibal says. “Ache for me.”

Will takes the bag from Hannibal, silent as they walk to another stall to buy vegetables. This... straightforwardness is new to him. New, and strange.

The rules of their game have changed to accommodate the life they share. They aren't playing to survive against each other. They're playing to survive with each other.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet, hushed.

“I do.”

In the middle of the busy market, Hannibal stops and closes his eyes. The better to understand Will's admission. Taste it. Store it away. Treasure it.

When he has finished, he opens his eyes. He nods once. He wants nothing more than to touch Will. A fleeting brush of shoulder would be enough, a whisper of hand against hand. But not here. Not now. Not yet.

He moves on, Will beside him, without saying a word.

The rest of the trip is shared in silence. By the time they are walking back to the cottage, the sun is starting to set. The sky looks like a gradient of spilled colors, each one overpowering the other as they travel to the earth.

When they reach the cottage, Will wordlessly places the bags on the kitchen table before making his way to the balcony. The cool breeze of the morning is now colder. He doesn't mind, even as he shivers slightly. His eyes are fixed on the sky.

Hannibal puts away the groceries. He pours them each a glass of wine; it has become their habit to have a glass together before dinner.

They have fallen into habits, over these weeks. A sort of routine, even when their life has been furtive and chaotic. And a way of being with each other which has now, in the past hours, changed.

The air feels different. There is a particular type of tension between them which has not been there before. Or it has been there, but the fact that they have acknowledged its existence, its mutuality, makes it all the more evident. The act of not touching Will feels like an act in itself.

And there is the memory, on his lips, of the single kiss that Will gave him.

He takes the wine, along with a bowl of olives that they have bought in the market, out to the balcony where Will waits.

He's leaning against the pillar, eyes gazing unwaveringly at the sky. As Hannibal comes closer, he straightens. “Red or white today?”

“Red. The local reds here are much lighter and fruitier than what we were used to in Argentina. More refreshing, and suitable with fish.”

He hands Will his glass, ensuring their fingers touch for the briefest of moments.

Will’s skin tingles where their fingers brush. Will glances at Hannibal, taking a slow sip, letting the flavor rest on his tongue. It's refreshing, as Hannibal said it would be.

“I like it.”

“And you like it here. With me.”

“Yes.”

Hannibal smiles. “You can answer that question, now. What has changed?”

He knows what has changed. He wants Will to say it.

Will’s eyes slip away once more, fixed on the sky. “I have realized that our game has changed. Our feelings have changed. We're playing for different reasons now.”

“My feelings...remain what they always were,” says Hannibal. “But yes. Our game has changed. We are dangerous to each other for different reasons, now. We have always held each other's lives in our hands. But now you hold my heart as well.”

He looks away. Turns away, wine glass in hand, to look at where the darkness gathers in the sky.

For a few seconds, Will stops breathing, his chest tight and his mouth dry.

“My... feelings haven't changed either,” Will says. “What has changed is my view. And with this acceptance, the game has inevitably been altered into something new. Dishonesty and twisted words have no room anymore. Not if we are trusting each other without bounds. Not if I am trusting you with my honesty, my words. My mind, and my heart.”

Hannibal puts his wine glass on the balcony wall. He bows his head, still not turning to face Will.

“I have never been as vulnerable to you as I am in this moment,” Hannibal says. “Not in the Uffizi when you held a knife in your pocket. Not in Wolf Trap when you told me you wanted me gone forever. Not when I was in that cell, or when we were on that cliff. Not when you revived me on the beach.”

His voice is so soft as to be almost inaudible. “Now, right now, is the moment when you have the power to destroy me.”

Slowly, Will places the wine glass on the balcony ledge as well, turning his body to face Hannibal.

“I should, for all you have done to me. To those I loved. But if I were to destroy you, I would be destroying myself. And loved ones should be cherished, not hurt.”

Hannibal still does not look at Will. “I have only been allowed to cherish you in the spaces of my own mind.”

Will's hand reaches out for Hannibal's, slowly interlacing their fingers.

Hannibal nearly gasps at the touch.

He has touched Will many times. But only four times has Will touched him, without necessity or coercion. And two of those times were today.

He tightens his fingers around Will's, still without meeting his eyes. The connection just between their hands is nearly more than he can process or bear, right now, and still feel everything fully.

Softly, Will says, “Please look at me.”

It's the 'please'. It's always the 'please.' Hannibal turns his head, not his body, and looks into Will's face.

“Dr Du Maurier may have said those words to unsettle me,” says Will, “but all they did was make me realize that she was right.”

“About...how I feel for you,” Hannibal says.

“And about how I feel for you. She asked me if I ache for you. I realized that I did. I do.”

“Streams belong to you,” says Hannibal. “In their ebb and flow, their eddies and small calm places. Since I met you, I have thought of you every time I have seen a stream.” He pauses. “Now sunsets are yours as well.”

Gently, Hannibal unlaces their fingers. “I'll make us some dinner.”

The act is unexpected. It isn't a rejection, but... a step back? Will isn't entirely sure.

“I'll help?”

“If you volunteer, I'll give you the dirty jobs. The squid needs to be cleaned before I grill it, and I'd like to reserve the ink for the sauce.”

“I don’t mind.”

Will follows Hannibal into the kitchen, sipping his wine. He washes his hands, and ties one of the aprons around his waist.

Hannibal gives him food to prepare, and refills his wine glass, and keeps up a stream of conversation. About the weather and the island, and the migrating habits of squid, and the trees indigenous to this region, and the Odyssey and the Oresteia, and the reasons behind the naming of Annapolis in Maryland, and the method of preparing cucumbers to get rid of their bitterness.

He talks as they cook and as they put the food on the table, seemingly without effort; exactly as they have conversed before, over a wide range of topics, all covered with urbanity and humour and intelligence.

The ideal dinner companion. As Hannibal has always been. It is exactly as if nothing has changed at all.

It's as if everything has changed.

Their conversations are impersonal, as if Will is another dinner guest Hannibal has invited. Their conversations have always felt like they live in the same mind, their thoughts and motives impossible to hide from each other. The first time they met, the conversation was too personal. Years after that, every conversation felt like a mirror, their thoughts reflecting off each other.

This... is more like a brick wall. Diversions leading to diversions.

Will doesn't understand. He was under the assumption that this is what Hannibal wanted. Has always wanted.

He wonders if he was wrong. If he made the wrong choice.

Hannibal reaches for the bottle to refill their glasses, but then he pauses. It would not be wise to drink too much. Instead, he tops up Will's glass, and leaves his own.

He stands, collecting their empty plates. He has barely tasted the meal they have made.

“I'll cut up that melon for dessert.”

Will nods. As Hannibal leaves, he picks up his glass and downs nearly half of it in one go.

Hannibal comes back with the melon, sliced paper-thin on two plates, presented in baroque curls. He puts it down on the table in front of Will.

“It looks beautiful.” Will’s eyes trace over the presentation of the melon.

“We've travelled far today,” Hannibal says.

“Are you speaking of the literal distance we traveled? Or perhaps how we broached a topic we didn't even care to touch for two months?”

“I'm speaking of both.” Hannibal sits down. “The world can change in a moment. You and I, with the lives we lead, must be ready for everything to change in a moment. But on this topic... It may take some time to understand fully. Even though I have been waiting for us to broach it, for years.”

When Will glances up at Hannibal, he seems unsure, his words carrying a kind of hesitance they don't usually carry.

“I am unused to your honesty. I... almost don't know how to talk to you anymore.”

Hannibal smiles. When he speaks it is almost teasing. “I stopped deceiving you a very long time ago.” He stands. “Shall we take dessert outside, and look at the stars?”

Will stands, picking up the plate. “Are we going to the garden or the balcony?”

“Do you want to sit on the wall, or lie on the grass?”

“The grass is more comfortable. And we've been on the balcony for most of our time today.”

They walk together out to the garden. In the cool night air, the bougainvillea has released its subtle scent, and the night jasmine has opened. Hannibal sits on the grass, breathing deep and gazing upwards.

As always, he is intensely aware of the space separating him and Will; he has seated himself first so Will can choose how close to be.

Normally, throughout their time together, Hannibal has controlled their proximity. He has arranged furniture, chosen his seat or the place to stand; he has used closeness and distance to express what he wanted Will to perceive. At times, it has felt like a dance.

It feels like a dance now, still; but the choreographer has changed.

Will seats himself close enough to Hannibal that they could touch, but far enough for it to be comfortable. The decision to sit where he does isn't a conscious one. But it isn't a subconscious one either.

For months, he chose not to act. And today, he did. He doesn't know what made him do it, what made him take the first step.

Perhaps it was the realization that their interactions in the past months had been too intimate to be mere companionship. Or the realization that even going to the market without Hannibal sent a shiver down his spine; the fear that their separation would lead to one of them being taken away. On one hand, the fear is logical; they are stronger when they are together. On the other hand, it is illogical. They are both more than capable of surviving on their own.

However, the source of the fear doesn't change anything about the fear's existence. The fact that the thought of separation makes him more than just uncomfortable. The fact that instead of saying this to Hannibal, Will kissed him.

Or the fact that Hannibal's reaction wasn't what he expected.

And now, here they are, sitting on the ground, gazing at the stars. Sitting at a distance farther than what Will wants, unable to move closer due to...

Fear? Hesitance? The fact that he can't predict Hannibal's reaction? He doesn't know.

But today, unpredictability shouldn't hold him back. The rules of the game have changed.

Will shifts his body slightly closer to Hannibal's, close enough that he can feel his body heat.

Hannibal breathes Will in.

“During the years that I was in that cell, I would remember your scent,” he says. “The texture of your voice. It was an almost unimaginable luxury to me, to think of experiencing these things daily. I would eke out the memory of a spoken word. Ration my recollections of blood on your hands. After years of such a poor diet, for the past two months I have been living a feast. We have been constantly together. Your touch...seems almost a surfeit of pleasure.”

Hannibal takes a long breath. And he holds out his palm for Will's.

Will's eyes meet Hannibal's, holding his gaze. And then, without hesitating, his hand reaches out for Hannibal's, interlacing their fingers.

“For how long have you wanted this?” Will asks.

“On some level, from the first time I met you.” Slowly, he raises Will's hand to his face, turning it so that his cheek is cradled in Will's palm.

Will cups his cheek, his thumb gently stroking Hannibal's cheekbone. “We've come a long way.”

Hannibal removes his own hand, so that Will is touching him of his own accord. Will's own volition and desire.

“We still have a long way to go,” Hannibal says.

“I don't mind, as long as we'll be walking together.”

He leans his face into Will's touch. “Will. We are going to be together for a long time. Perhaps the rest of our lives. Through circumstance and choice and through the things we have done together. Because we are safer together, and more complete. This...what we are doing now...is a change. One from which we may not be able to turn back.”

Hannibal lowers his voice. “A kiss is a contract.”

Will’s tone mimics Hannibal's. “We jumped into it months ago. We are only acknowledging it now. We...are already bound; the contract has been written. It just needs to be completed.You're asking me if I want to turn this way, but I've already given in.”

Hannibal whispers. “Then kiss me.”

Will's heart stutters in his chest, his hand slowly traveling from Hannibal's cheek to his neck. His other hand rests on his shoulder, his fingers digging into the material of his shirt.

Will's gazes falls on Hannibal's mouth, the pad of his thumb gently smoothing across his lower lip. His own lips part as he slowly leans in to kiss Hannibal; it's a brief touch of his lips that makes him feel far too much.

It's soft and gentle, the taste of sweet wine on his tongue.

And then, his fingers are tightening on Hannibal, his heart is pounding in his chest, and he can barely breathe. With an almost tortured sound, Will kisses him again. And it's deep and slow and desperate all at the same time, and they've both waiting so long for this, and it's almost too much, but not quite. He kisses Hannibal like a starving man; as if he's parched, as if he wants nothing more than to drink him in.

When they separate, he's breathing hard. His cheeks are flushed, his pupils dilated, his lips swollen.

“We've signed the contract,” he says.

The ground is unsteady, the stars are reeling, the world has flipped itself over and reassembled itself into something new. Will Graham has kissed him, not with fear or reverence or obligation, but with _hunger_. Hunger and a new form of tenderness. All of it a miracle.

When he speaks, his voice is rough. “No. We've only signed the first part.”

And he kisses Will in return, with a hunger of his own.

Will’s fingers curl into the material of Hannibal's shirt. A low moan escapes him, swallowed by Hannibal's lips. He whispers against his mouth.

“And now? Has it been signed?”

“Yes. We can't go back from this moment.”

Hannibal kisses his lips again, and then he kisses his chin, his cheeks, his forehead, his hair, the lids of both his closed eyes. His own eyes are open, looking at the wonder of Will in the starlight.

And then another long, slow, dizzying kiss on Will's mouth.

Will's eyes open. He reaches for Hannibal's hand, interlacing their fingers and gently squeezing. He raises their conjoined hands to his lips, kissing Hannibal's knuckles. When he speaks, his voice is quiet.

“This... You and I... It feels right.”

Hannibal loves the feeling of Will's kiss on his hands almost as on his mouth. It is not only acceptance but embracing of all that Hannibal has done, all that they will do.

“The stars have aligned and at last we are where we are meant to be,” Hannibal says. “If you and I were arrested right now—tonight—the memory of this moment would sustain me through years apart.”

He brings their hands to his own mouth and kisses Will's hand in return. Each knuckle, and the back of his wrist. He lets his lips linger there for a long moment, as he fully absorbs the present: the garden, the stars, the night, the much yearned-for man beside him.

Then he releases Will's hand, and stands. “It has been a long and eventful day. We should sleep.” He smiles down at Will. “You can have the room with the view.”

Will stands as well, picking up his plate and brushing the grass off his shorts. Hannibal's smile, true and genuine and beautiful, is infectious. His own lips curve into a smile as a rush passes through his body, his chest feeling light.

He can't resist the temptation to lean in and press his lips against Hannibal's once more. He doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to go to sleep. Hannibal's company has always been magnetic, and their conversations have always been captivating to the point of danger. Every time, dragging himself away from it brought upon feelings of both regret and relief. But now, dragging himself away seems to the impossible. There is no relief in walking away from Hannibal. Only lingering sensations and a quiet sense of longing.

Hannibal lightly curls his fingers around Will's as they walk inside. The cottage is small though airy, but he walks Will to the door of the bedroom. He pauses and gives him a light, sweet kiss on the lips.

“Goodnight,” he says.

“I'll... see you in the morning.”

“Yes.”

Will doesn't move.

Nor does Hannibal. He is very aware of Will's breath on his face.

“Streams,” Hannibal says, “and sunsets. And now the stars are yours, too.”

Softly, Will says, “I've gotten used to sleeping in the same room as you.”

The longing is deep in Hannibal’s chest, an unbreakable silken bond that connects him to Will.

“That was out of necessity,” Hannibal says. “Things have changed, now. We are in a different place, and things are altered between us.”

“It doesn't alter the fact that I find comfort in your presence. Nonetheless…” Will sighs. “You are right.”

Will leans in, pressing a kiss on the corner of Hannibal's mouth. “Good night.”

And he glances at Hannibal one more time before turning to walk into his room, softly shutting the door behind him.

Hannibal actually touches the doorknob to open it, to rescind his words, to find comfort in Will's presence too. And something more than comfort. Hunger, desire, pleasure, and...love.

But he stops himself, and turns away.

He has lain awake next to Will over many nights, thinking of broaching the small distance between their bodies, and the greater distance between their minds and hearts. Listening to his breathing,and feeling the rhythm of his sleep.

He has never allowed himself to do so. He has waited, instead, hoping for Will to come to him. And now that Will has come to him…

Even in separate rooms, he and Will will be closer than ever before.

Still, as he undresses and slips, naked, between cool sheets, he can't help but wish he had made a different decision.

Will shifts in his bed, his eyes wide open in the dark.

They made the right decision. He knows they did. It's too much, too soon. They both took a step forward today, and stretching their boundaries too far is dangerous.

Despite his restlessness, he convinces himself that the distance between them is for the best. And as he slips into sleep, his unease at the lack of warmth beside him disappears with his awareness.

He doesn't know that even in his sleep, away from his conscious thoughts, his body reaches out for someone who isn't there.

 

**"With a kiss let us set out for an unknown world." —Alfred de Musset**


End file.
